


Our Mutual Burden

by bigdeathenergy



Category: Silent Hill (Video Game Series)
Genre: Alcoholism, Child Neglect, Frank is only mentioned, Gen, James is a mess, Laura feels abandoned, PTSD, Suicide, Vomit, mentions of past trauma, some horror stuff obvi b/c silent hill, teenage angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:08:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27702559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigdeathenergy/pseuds/bigdeathenergy
Summary: Laura has been waiting ten years for James to be the person he promised he could be. After his disappearance to Silent Hill, she fears he's at his breaking point, and needs her more than she needs him.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first time i've ever actually posted any of my SH fanfic, in all 19 years of being in this fandom. always been too nervous. hope you like it. :3c currently only loosely edited.

Mornings in their household without James were only vaguely different from ones where he was present. There was no fatherly peck on the forehead to wake her up and tell her to get ready for school. She considered a new pack of frozen egos the closest he'd ever get to cooking her a real breakfast. Making it to his bedroom after his night after night out at wherever served him drinks until he was someone else's problem, was a courtesy he almost never afforded her. Managing to even haul his ass home, and that extra five feet over to the couch in the middle of the living room, was a fucking miracle in and of itself. He always slept through Laura's morning routines; he snored through her shoving his legs over so she could sit at the end of the sofa and watch the news.

Because, as she'd come to find out, it wasn't really sleeping that he did. James was on a whole other level with it, falling totally out of his body, unreachable, and usually, it was only something in his dreams that stirred him awake. Nothing else could. Not even when he already had his eyes open.

So, like she said, the differences were minimal. Less noise, more room for her to move around, and the familiarity of being alone (it was almost a perk) made what could, and should have been, a good morning. But she knew he was going to do this specific disappearing act for weeks now. He'd done it since she'd turned ten, and seven more years after. Eighteen was just supposed to be different, because it was special, right? And it was his last chance to prove to her that he cared, too.

Laura had already been looking for her own place on the other side of Ashfield. Even if she'd had to lie on the application by saying she was already out of school, having her mornings alone, would be easier than bearing the burden of James Sunderland. The only thing she was surprised about was that this still made her angry. Mostly, she attempted to blame it on the fact that he took the car, and like usual, he'd probably be gone for about two days. The inconveniences were easier to admit than the abandonment.

He never said where he went, but Laura wasn't stupid. Every time he came back, there was more of him missing, to the point where he was basically only the silhouette of a human. He barely managed eye contact when he was saying _sorry I missed your birthday, kiddo_ and pulled some gift out of his ass. They were always great gifts, too, which she almost loathed, because she didn't want a reason to be happy with him. James was a professional at remorse, but Laura would prefer he had a talent for preventative measures, instead of damage control. Whatever. It shouldn't still make her upset.

But it did.

Hitchhiking would take her a pretty good distance, but she knew she was going to have to walk a solid handful of miles into the town from the highway. She hadn't been there for nine years, but she figured the whole place was still boarded up anyway. There would have been news about it, if people would have opened it back up for tourism or something. Finding him probably wouldn't be a hassle. He was nothing if not a creature of habit, so she'd probably come across him in one of the places she'd met up with him in the first place. Way back when she was just a kid, and he was just Mary's asshole husband.

Was he worth this trouble? The short answer: no. But he'd somehow gotten into this reverse dynamic with her, where _he_ was somehow _her_ responsibility. He wasn't even her real dad, but thinking about him being alone and sad disturbed her. Even if she still cradled something sick inside when she so much as saw him. The immortal anger at his fucking despicable deed. If everyone else knew, they wouldn't forgive him, either. They'd understand. Frank would stop trying to do those _you know, your dad is trying his best; it's not easy to be a parent_ talks. They'd see him as the selfish slob he really was.

If things had been the other way around, Laura decided she could have forgiven Mary. Killing someone was still _killing someone_. But she wouldn't have put Laura through the years of suffering James did. Maybe they would have even been happy together, as mother and daughter. This distant guardian, and unhappy child dynamic that he forced them into? It ruined everything.

Getting him back had nothing to do with being worried. This was more about responsibility. Okay, maybe there was a part of her that cared a little. One memory, one good one, that she thought of fondly, while stuffing a heavy jacket into her backpack for this trip, was Christmas. Again, James had always been an excellent gift-giver. Her first Christmas in South Ashfield, he'd blown her away with art supplies. Stuff she'd never heard of before in her life. Pastels, pencils, crayons, markers, a set of paints, and two big sketchbooks.

"Why this stuff?" she'd asked. Her confusion didn't dampen her excitement, though.

"Because of the drawings in chalk on the wall you were sitting on top of. Don't you remember? It was the first -- well, the second time I met you." he told her, "Plus, all of your doodles on those books you had in the hospital. And the pictures you drew in the fog on the window, in the restaurant. Did you think I didn't see any of that?"

It was funny, because the art supplies had been a good gift. What he'd really given her, though, was the weird feeling of being _noticed._ Things she liked had always flown under the radar, just like her. Slipping in and out of rooms sneakily, doing things so quietly in the corner that she was practically invisible. James just _knew._ They'd stayed up all night drawing a huge picture together, using everything, and taping it into one piece. It'd covered the entire fridge for years, until it finally gave up on hanging, then found it's way into the trash, by Laura's own request.

As much as she wished she could write him off, those memories stopped her every time. Her good moments with James were _so_ good, that she came close to the idea of forgiveness really often. He always managed to pull some shit like this, though. Before she got all the way there, she mused -- slipping her pack onto her shoulders, and then bending down to tie her sneakers -- he always did something like this to ruin it. Her final thought on it: living with James was like living in limbo. A sad, foggy limbo.

Snatching her keys off the rack and pocketing them, she pulled her hood up over her blonde hair, before she stepped out into the apartment hallway. She didn't want Frank to see her heading off somewhere, mainly because she'd end up having to cover for James. She was already hitchhiking halfway to Silent Hill for him. Making something up about where he was would just be a shitty cherry on top. It wasn't her problem. It _shouldn't_ be her problem.

The bottom lock always got stuck. Fiddling with it frustrated her, not as much as the mountain of times she'd asked someone to fix it, but eventually, Laura managed to pull her key free. The apartment hallway was always sort of quiet, no one really hung out and chatted the way they used to when James'd first brought her here. Frank had become more nosy as he'd turned into a senior citizen, which was probably why people kept it behind closed doors now. Honestly, she missed it, because back then, there was a lot more people around that seemed like they cared about her.

That list felt short these days.

The elevator was broken. Fine. She preferred the stairs anyway, hopping down off the last three after a huff of a sigh, and pushing open the door into the courtyard. Even in mid-September, the air was starting to get crisp enough that she needed a jacket over her hoodie. She kept walking, even as she shouldered her backpack off, to get one out. Didn't have any time to waste. It was already half past four in the afternoon, and there wasn't a lot of sunlight in the overcast sky.

After she made it a respectable distance down the cracked and ugly sidewalk -- far enough, that is, so her grandpa won't see her doing it -- she threw her thumb out into traffic, asking for a favor she's not so unfamiliar with. And hoping to fuck that she doesn't get any crazies pulling over for her. At least James did well enough to buy her a knife for her last birthday. That was stashed in her back front pocket. She wanted it close enough that she could whip it out on _anyone_ who tried to even think about it. It would be the curse of the Sunderland family, to have to do something like kill a person right away, wouldn't it?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's another chapter. :V oof, writing Laura is fun. let me know what you think please! added some familiar stuff in this chap.

This wasn't the place she'd left behind.

What Laura had known was a comfortable, ambient stillness that laid like a blanket, over the top of the town. The scent of distant water rot, and mold choked out any attempt she made at a deep inhale. Her field of vision was desperately small, creating a bubble so tight around her that she felt momentarily disoriented, crunching along the fallen brown leaves that made a path inward, towards the graveyard she'd slipped through, unnoticed, as a kid.

The size difference wasn't all that staggering, but the emotional difference took her aback. The chasm between the person she was now versus the child she had been was deep and dark. The neglect from a group home was interesting, because, even if she went in and out of the Toluca county childcare system, she always came home to the same kids, the same bunk in a room full of others. It was tribal, there was a village around her, even if the faces were ever shifting.

The hope she'd had of going home with Mary was a flickering candle in a fucking storm, but she let the fire grow bigger, when James had held her hand, as they passed through the same cemetery she was coming upon now. The comedy of it was that she thought she had someone who wanted her, or at least cared enough to give her a home. Sometimes, she thought that maybe what James gave her as she grew was normal, and she was just a greedy person, always needing more from him than he could really offer.

It wasn't until she started seeing the way other kids acted with their parents, that she was able to pinpoint it was still neglect. And the scary part was that James wasn't what people would think of, when they thought of an abusive parent. He wasn't angry, and he never seemed to have any ill will towards her. But she felt alone.

Last time she'd been in Silent Hill, she _hadn't_ felt alone. Mary seemed to guide her through empty streets by the hand. Laura was able to put places to the stories that Mary had told her, and the place had felt like Heaven, because someone like Mary had said so. This time, it wasn't Mary's town. The town was a stranger now, with cold wind that blew right through her, and chilled her all the way to the bone. The familiarity didn't do much to keep her warm anymore.

Something dull hummed inside of her. A tension coiled, not so unlike the feeling of a figure, unseen, chasing her up dark basement stairs. Laura had a purpose for being here, though, and she was too stubborn to go back home without her dad.

The stack of maps she'd found in the glove compartment of James' old junker years ago would be her guide through this fucking mess of a situation. Luckily, he circled and marked off his path obsessively, so the only thing to do was follow the trail of bread crumbs to exactly where she first met him. But there was one stop she wanted to make before she hoofed it all the way into town, towards the apartment complex.

In scrawling handwriting, that didn't match James' normal sideways leaning script, the words HOLE HERE were inked darkly over a building labeled Neely's Bar. Laura had been wondering, for a restless five years, what _hole here_ meant. A hole in the wall? To what? Had James spent time there? Not so unbelievable, considering the amount of time he spent in bars _now._

She allowed herself a wry grin at her own cleverness, but only because it wasn't a distraction from her goal. The town, though quiet and eerie, seemed still. Even if it wasn't welcoming the way it used to be, Laura was kind of thankful that it was still abandoned, so that she didn't have a chance of running into anyone the way she had last time. James wasn't the only person that had gotten in her way back then. And even though Eddie probably had to be some freak to be wandering around Silent Hill alone, she could admit that she sort of liked him. Even if he was gutless.

The map was a godsend. She spent less time wandering aimlessly than when she'd come before, which was good to her, because she had less patience for exploration than she used to. The best she did nowadays was intentionally miss the turn down their block, so she could keep driving and listening to whatever song was playing on the radio. Without the music, the extra time just perturbed her, and so when she kept hitting snags -- streets sunken in, chain-link fences with barbed wire, abandoned construction blocking an alleyway she intended to cut through -- she tried to reroute as quickly as she could.

With some helpful tips from James' map, she managed to circle back around onto the street she was looking for, sticking close enough to the sides of decaying brick buildings, so she could catch a sign that she'd found Neely's. It had been such an arduous detour that seeing inside was now a _need,_ instead of just a simple curiosity. When she did finally find it, the door was ajar. A key was hanging from the deadbolt lock, with a tag dangling that read _bar_ , in what was, beyond a doubt, James' handwriting.

So, coming here had been a part of his script after all.

Before she got a moment to push the door open and slip inside, an ugly, guttural sound shuddered its way through the fog behind her. She tensed from her gut first, throwing a sidelong look over her shoulder, reaching up to sweep her blonde hair away from her field of view, and behind an ear. In the close distance, there was an still silhouette, something of a heap that she hadn't noticed before. Without any idea how close or far it was, Laura could only guess at its size. It seemed to linger at hip, maybe chest height. While she looked, it seemed to rear back, and a loud, wet sucking noise clouded the space around her. That same loud, low shivering groan followed, and she watched it shake forward just a hair. The noise it made sputtered, somewhere between a sob, and a water-logged choke, deep enough that she felt it reverberate in her stomach.

Despite the fact that its shadow looked like someone hunched on the ground, she knew almost immediately that wasn't human, if not just from the tingle of dread she felt run down her spine. Curiosity wanted to get a better look. Pity wanted to try and help. Sense knew better. And if Laura was the kind of person to listen to sense over all else, she probably wouldn't have hauled her ass all the way to Silent Hill for a lost cause her stupid dad.

So, she stepped forward, swallowing hard, but didn't made herself known, not yet. Again, whatever the fuck it was took a long and gurgling inhale, hitching once or twice, like it couldn't get a full breath without a choke. The closer she got to it, she noticed a smell permeating thickly. It was moldy filth, like the rain falling on an opened bag of trash on the side of the road, and it was so pungent that she immediately had to smack a hand over her mouth and nose to stop from gagging up her breakfast.

On the sound of her retch, she watched the outline of the creature spook, and shift, falling completely silent. Now that it knew she was there, she might as well do what she probably shouldn't, and say something.

The situation on whether or not she was gonna puke was touch and go, when she offered a queasy "Hello ...?"

It sat up. She took a few more steps forward, and reached into her pocket for the maglight she'd packed this morning, to try getting a look at a face. When what she saw made little sense, she squinted, tried blaming the fog, but when it took two shaking movements towards her on all fours, there wasn't much she could do to argue logic.

Its face, featureless, was like a sinking, sagging leather sack, hanging in flaps like at one point, it hand been overstuffed, and stretched out to become misshapen. The sounds it was making were starting to sound like sobs as it crawled closer, causing Laura to take an automatic step backwards. Little flat flesh pockets hang so far down that they dragged along with it, scraping up and leaving a trail of rust colored gore behind itself, but everything else, the spine, it's arms, it's long, gnarled fingers -- all of it was bony, protruding, like a starving man. The skin, grey-green, with black and blue veins running everywhere.

That head seemed too heavy for it to raise. If it was any less grotesque, the way it crawled would make it pitiable, but she had a feeling inside her, that if she let it latch on, it would do it's best to consume her (somehow, mouthlessly) until she laid dead on the sidewalk.

"Get back," she warned it, and it flinched at the sound of her words, crawling just a little bit faster. Soon, it was close enough that the smell was no longer something she could ignore. Salty saliva started to collect in her mouth.

"Stay the fuck back!" but this second try made it start to scramble toward her now, groaning in rumbling sobs, coming at her with a speed that made her stomach drop, just in case she hadn't realized yet that this meant danger. And it was moving fast enough, she couldn't ignore the urge to turn and run, bolting for the Neely's, slamming the door the rest of the way open with one hand on the knob, to collect James' key from the hole.

The last thing she saw before whipping it shut behind her was the creature springing out towards her; if she hadn't been standing with her back against the wood, the door might had flung back open, but instead she felt its fleshy _thump_ and slide down onto the concrete, sobbing loudly, while scratching on the outside of the door. The noises were frantic, like a plead, but she threw the lock and the deadbolt, to keep herself as safe as she could be, in the situation she was currently in.

Tears wanted to find their way out. But she'd hold 'em in as well as she'd held the vomit, and slid down the door, to pull her knees up and hug them, resting her forehead there to catch her breath. Couldn't break down yet -- there was still a lot to do, and if she let it out now, shit, she may as well just turn tail and run home now. But that might mean saying goodbye to James. And she wasn't ready to do that. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

After a good ten minutes of banging, scratching, and open, hellish weeping, an eerie and sudden quiet settled over the moment. Laura wasn't going to trust it, though. Why open the door to peak, when there was a greyish light coming in from a plastered over window shining in. She pushed herself onto her feet with as little noise as she possibly could, and rounded the small corner, to try and get a look through the newspapers taped up, but stopped in her tracks, to read.

In what she hoped was only aged red paint, the words _There was a HOLE here. It's gone now._ were splattered. Whatever the fuck that meant, Laura mused while digging the map out of her pocket, it had obviously mattered enough to James to -- yep. There it was, written on the map. _HOLE here._ She reached out and ran the pads of her fingers over _HOLE._ Some of the rust-colored paint flaked off on her hands.

She turned her maglight on the wall to her left, to examine the place better, and what she saw made her inhale, then hold it there, like if she breathed back out, it'd be gone.

Painted there, in every color she'd ever seen, and in pain-staking detail, was a scene of the virgin Mary, hands clasped together in prayer. On her head was a crown of butterflies, red, and pink, and grey, fluttering with trails of dust. Laura shined her light all around the painting, attempting to take in all the strokes and patterns in her clothes. The shining white light around her seemed to almost glimmer, the rings on her hands caught the light with sheen too, and when Laura moved the beam to her face to get a better look, she paused there, studying.

It didn't take long for her to recognize the sleeping features of a woman that she'd loved very much. Shrouded in blue, were the eyes, the nose, the lips -- all of it was Mary. As accurate as a photo of her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eeyyy flashback chapter. editing is, as always, kinda loose. let me know what you think of this so far with a comment? :y

James liked to make, and then break, a lot of promises.

The hands on the clock edged closer to one in the morning, and any usual fourteen year old kid would probably be doing cartwheels at the prospect of having the house to themself. Laura, though, just sat and evaporated into nothing, on the spot in the couch that dipped in the middle from James' excessive use of it. She was vaguely observing late night junk on the T.V. screen in front of her. Marathoning trippy cartoons and infomercials wasn't doing much to keep her company; she couldn't really pay any attention anyway. The problem with her rage was that, for how quiet she was about it, it was all-consuming. There was no room in her mind to pay attention to anything else.

_No later than midnight,_ he'd told her when she begged him to stay home. To spend her last night of summer with her. If the choice had been entirely hers, James was the last person she'd call on for company, and not just because he was a miserable fuck, even back then. The thing was, though, that she spent so much time focused on him, Laura had a hard time making or keeping a friend. They were exhausting, when she had a dad at home that didn't altogether function right.

If she went out to stay over at a friend's house, who would let James in when he forgot his keys? Who would make sure he drank enough water to keep himself from dehydrating? No, that was her gig. Full time. Friends weren't all that important to her anyway. People her age had a habit of talking about her a lot, and not in the kind of way that made her eager to share a conversation with them. The day after tomorrow, she was going to start high school with all of them. All she could do was keep her head down, and hope no one was stupid enough to step to her. The fact that she went feral in a fist fight was common knowledge among her peers; a lot of them liked to talk shit about her dad in particular. That in itself had, and always would be, the fastest way to make her go insane.

And as much as she wanted to agree with everything they said about him, James' issues were her reality, not theirs. They had no right to throw around blatant disrespect.

Right about then, though, defending him was something she wasted less of her time doing, if he was going to pull shit like this over and over and over. Pulling her knees up so she could rest her chin on them, she sighed out. Seething for just shy of an hour had left her fatigued, but if she fell asleep now, he'd be lucky if he got himself through the door. After being out drinking for this long, he was definitely going to be too drunk to find his way to the couch on his own.

What sucked is was her reaction the second she heard his keys in the lock, (missing, scraping the door around the keyhole). It was like she was a stupid dog every time, immediately ecstatic. The way she was jumping up and off the couch -- if she had a tail, it'd be wagging. Even broke into a trot, curving around the kitchen island towards the door to unlock it on his behalf. "Hold on," she called out to him, "I got it," before she took off the chain, threw the tumbler, and unlocked the small nib on the knob itself. One hard tug and she was whipping the door open with a smile he didn't fucking earn.

Was it too much to ask that he'd be happy to see her?

The state of him sucked the air right out of her lungs. Barely recognizably James, really nothing but a heap of human. First, it was the smell, like he'd just splayed himself across the tavern floor to let everyone drown him in dark ale. If he was damp, she might have believed that's what really happened, because it was so strong that she could taste it on the air around him. The second thing was the way he immediately lulled to the side against the threshold of their apartment doorway, like a newborn fucking lamb on weak legs.

Using the wall in the hallway, he dragged himself in and barely managed to get the door shut behind him. There wasn't even a beat, and he was sliding down onto his ass, sat right there in the entryway like small child. Lastly, and this, beyond her own explanation, disturbed her the most, James let his head roll backwards on his shoulders to let out a mournful groan. Laura hadn't noticed before right this second that he was sobbing so hard, hot tears were collecting under his chin, eventually trailing down his neck and onto his shirt. They were coming fast enough that a stain was growing around his collar.

It matched all the other stains on his well-worn shirt. One of many he refused to throw away, but James refused to throw away anything. Terrified enough that he'd miss anything he got rid of, to the point of keeping the same toothbrush he'd had since she'd come to live at the house with him.

"Dad," she tried to catch his attention, but whatever memory he was stuck in (she knew what memory it was; he wasn't the only one that constantly lived in that space) suffocated everything else. Something she didn't normally do, that was doing right then, was look for some way to comfort him. There was enough space between him and the wall to fit herself in. She picked up his arm and slung it around her shoulders, slipping in to give him a tight embrace.

Only it had apparently been too much, because the first thing he did was lean away from her and retch. Everything in his stomach, which was nothing aside from whatever he'd drank, came gagging up, pooling into a putrid puddle on the floor to his left. That was enough to disgust her into recoiling, and she tugged herself away, to shrink against the wall. His sobbing paused, most likely because he was momentarily focused on keeping himself from choking. Which was more he'd actively done to keep himself alive for months.

James sat there, swaying, and Laura sensed there was precious little time in the eye of the storm. Instinct let her know: if she didn't want a bigger mess to clean up, then she had better get him to the fucking toilet before he puked again.

"Come on," she told him, reaching down and tugging him by the arm. James was tall, but he'd become rail thin these days, probably because he ate precious little. Their apartment was almost constantly bare. Neither of them seemed to care enough about a routine of three meals a day. Anyway, moving him would have been easier if he hadn't, in his intoxicated logic, started an attempt to get across the floor on all fours.

Laura couldn't watch him do it for too long, because right at this moment, his throaty wailing made him pitiable. If she let him keep going, he'd only get lower, and drag her down with him.

"Get up," she ordered, "If you don't make it to the toilet, I'm leaving you to sleep in it all night, James. C'mon," but she wasn't heartless. Again, she leaned down to get his arm around her shoulder, and urge him upright, onto his legs. His dead fucking weight swayed both of them, inching one unstable step towards the bathroom at a time. For most of the journey, she let him heap the majority of his frame against the wall. Getting the door open was a challenge, because she trusted him to do _one thing,_ which was _turn the fucking knob, Sunderland._

He was so wasted, he couldn't even do that. Laura had to end up doing it herself, all while shouldering his heavy body. There was a ham-fisted metaphor here, and she wished there was a way to tell life that she wasn't amused.

The way they tumbled into the bathroom could have been something out of a slapstick comedy routine, if she hadn't been so adamant about aiming him towards the toilet bowl that she almost hit her head on the sink on her way down. But she had to kind of hurry, he was already gagging more nasty shit up by the time they got there. It stained the front of his shirt, and splashed on the side of the toilet seat, but for the most part, he hit his target. She watched arm curl around the back of the john like it was a long lost lover.

"The next time you come home like this, I'm _not_ helping you. I shouldn't have helped you this time." Laura wanted to chew his ass out, yell at him, scream _nonsense_ until she felt a shred of relief. But the way he looked up at her, brows knit together and barely able to stabilize his own breathing, made her swallow hard. The sour smell in the air from his sick, spinning around in the toilet bowl, would be forever burned into her memory. And she really just didn't have the energy to nag at him about his broken promises anymore. Not after carrying him both emotionally, and pretty much physically, now.

Tears were gathering at the corners of her eyes fast; she had to square her jaw to keep her bottom lip from quivering. Pushing herself up off the floor was difficult, because she was shaking all over. Red in her cheeks, and tight in her chest. Her last favor to him was to reach behind her, and turn the shower on cold. If he was smart, he'd use it to sober himself up a little bit. But James didn't move, he only sat there like a corpse, trying to puzzle out things that were flying by too fast for him to process.

"Laura," it was the first word he'd said to her since coming in the door, and it spooked her into blinking. Which, in turn, made two, three droplets roll down her cheeks. "I'm sorry."

"Shut up," it didn't offer the relief she'd hoped, to say it. But it felt safe, like for a moment, she didn't have to pity him. Like she could protect herself, instead of him. So, she let a little more leak out, looking for some catharsis. "I hate you, James. And I wish you'd remember I said that tomorrow morning, but you're not going to remember _anything_ , are you? Because you _never do_." She'd intended to yell. But this rage felt better quiet. Maybe he'd know she meant it this time. "You're just gonna pretend everything's fine again, like always."

Weaving past him, Laura made to exit the room as fast as she possibly could. He was starting to beg her to wait, throwing out streams of half-formed apologies that his slack mouth couldn't shape. At least, not quickly enough to get them to her before she closed the bathroom door behind her. They were nothing but murmurs that followed her through down hallway, until she heard him fall apart to wailing again. Likely clutching the toilet, where he'd probably pass out in about ten minutes.

_Good._ He belonged there.

Once alone in her room, behind a locked door and underneath her covers, she dug out a picture of Mary she'd pilfered from James' wallet, going on five years ago. The crease from its fold cut her face in half, but Laura could still see how beautiful she'd been, before she'd had a chance to know her. There was a sweetness in Mary that Laura had seen James swallow whole every time he visited. He would sit in a chair to one side of her bed, and awkwardly paw through small talk, just to fill the exhausted silence between them.

And then at times, he would say and do cruel tings. Throw out little comments that would hurt her. Ones that left him crafting wordy apologies the next time he'd come, with a bouquet of flowers that couldn't cover up the scent of Mary's sickness. And Mary would always eventually give in to him.

But there were some things that Laura didn't think he deserved forgiveness for.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oy vey this took a while to write. also yep the chapter count got a little bigger. this story filled out a little heh. as usual, only loosely edited.

Silence didn't necessarily equate to safety, but when she pulled open the door to Neely's after what must have been forty-five minutes of anguished yowling, there wasn't much there. A trail of black stain that shone under the light of Laura's maglight like an oil slick, led away from the door frame. She drew the map from her pocket, and pointed a quick glance at the street sign on the corner. Barely visible through the thick fog, she had to squint to see it. After comparing it to James' marks, she realized it was going the same direction she intended to.

The image of it weighed heavy on her, sinking into her stomach to form a heavy disgust. If it hadn't rushed her, maybe that would have come along with a dose of pity, but her tolerance for it was definitely going to depend on how wide a berth she gave the thing. Stepping back out into the cold and quiet streets, she realized that keeping vigilant would be paramount. Which was sort of the last thing she had expected, when comparing her experience to the last time she'd been here.

Her footsteps seemed as disruptive as gunshots against silence surrounding everything, so she tempered them the best she could. Initially, Laura had been worried about keeping the flashlight on, because it ate batteries like a starving animal, but she'd rather see the best she could in the fog, _now,_ with that thing lurking around. If her phone hadn't given out two hours ago, she could cross-reference her theory that it shouldn't be dark enough to be needing it yet. But she guessed that didn't really matter, and was the least of her worries, really.

It never felt like James got properly tooled up to be coming back to a town in _this_ state. Laura'd never seen him pack food, or a flashlight, and he always left his phone behind. He obviously didn't need the map she'd stolen, because he'd never said anything about it being gone. The only thing she'd ever noticed him take was the handgun he kept locked up in his bedroom, the one he probably thought she didn't know about. He tried to sneak it out in the small of his back, under that same green jacket he'd worn forever. But the outline of it was as obvious as a neon arrow.

When she'd gotten a chance to peak at it alone, usually when he was passed out on the couch, she noticed the grip was worn and stained, and she didn't want to know if it was from age or use. She wondered if there were more of those things stalking along the streets, or, and this was probably the more important question, if they were predatory enough to earn a flurry of bullets in 'em. If _that_ was why he had it.

James was talkative in his map markings, saying a lot more to her now, through his old cartography, than he generally did to her on a daily basis. While locked up in Neely's, waiting for that creature to slink away, and after studying the portrait of Mary splashed across the wall, she'd taken some time to familiarize herself with his path through Silent Hill. When she'd bushwhacked her way across town at eight years old, cutting through alleyways, abandoned buildings, even climbing over a few rooftops hadn't been beyond her. He seemed fairly narrow minded with his trails, and to be frank, she was surprised there was ever any point at which they'd crossed paths.

But it was obvious from his little scribbles and directions, that he'd been chasing her idly. Laura knew he'd been after Mary from the start -- that much, he'd been honest about. But any evidence that he'd cared about Laura, even back then, was precious to her.

Rosewater was circled. She tapped it twice, before folding the map and shouldering her backpack the rest of the way on.

Honestly, and this was her confession to herself, and herself only -- James had been worrying her. Instead of spending time with her, he'd been out, or locked in his room. Selling things online, giving previously precious stuff away to neighbors. Their apartment was starting to seem empty in more than the obvious way, and the more Laura looked at him, the more he looked like not enough human stretched over too much bone. He'd turn on the T.V. but he wouldn't watch. He'd drink and drink and drink, but it passed right through him in a ghostly way. Everything did.

The painting of Mary on the wall at Neely's had kicked up her heartbeat, because it only seemed to reaffirm her suspicion that he wanted to turn this town into a mausoleum. And she was scared that he'd happily rot in any kind of hell, if it meant some sort of freedom from his current day in and day out.

The more she mused on it, wandering the cold streets of Silent Hill, the more she felt herself pressed to find him. James didn't have any imagination -- walked only along streets, but Laura herself was still the queen of the shortcut. Maybe ten years had gone by, but she was just about the same rail thin girl she'd always been. Just the right size to squeeze between a construction awning, covering the walls of a building like it was a corpse, and the fence surrounding it.

James' map had read _the door that wakes in darkness;_ and Laura wasn't sure what she'd expected to see. The last thing on her list had been a second mural of Mary, taller this time, and weeping red tears that ran all the way down to her bare feet at the base of the painting. She had a halo of painted moths so thick that it looked like they were about to swarm her, and looking at it for too long suddenly gave Laura a massive spike of vertigo, that traveled quickly down to her gut. A gut that was already churning, from the smell and sight of the creature she'd encountered earlier.

Taken aback a minute, Laura had to shrink down into a crouch, swallowing a thick saliva that was threatening to make her sick. A pain gripped her tight, but instead of vomit, she choked out a warped " _No --",_ that came with a rush of hot tears starting to collect in the corners of her eyes. With all the strength in her, she summoned a deep breath in through her nose, and then let it out through her mouth. After she repeated it twice more, before she was up and at 'em again, refusing to look at the painting of Mary that was no doubt James' work, as she pushed through _the door that wakes in darkness._

On the other side, there were more of _them_. A cacophony of moaning cries so loud, she wasn't certain how she hadn't heard the chorus from all the way across town. But there was no more time to slow down and hide; a deep and feral fear was starting to bloom in Laura that told her she was currently on a countdown. She'd been stupid enough to waste enough time in Neely's, waiting for a safety that, it seemed, was always meant to be short-lived. They were minutes that might mean something terrifying, if she didn't arrive where she was going soon.

Quietly, she started to map out a path through them all, at least ten of them, sloshing back and forth across the grime covered road before her. One step didn't seem to draw their attention, so she decided that was how she'd have to make her way through this mine field: one foot, and then the other. In her peripheral, she saw, and heard, a group of them tearing into a heap of something on the ground. With what mouth, she wasn't sure, but the sloppy sound of chewing and shredding was loud enough to echo, and whatever it was they were eating must have been long dead, to stay as still and silent as it did. The difficulty she had convincing herself that it wasn't James, was extraordinary.

Couldn't stop now.

Off went her maglight. Her breathing took to shuddering inhales that were barely working to get air in her, as she weaved around each little herd of them, sobbing shamelessly into the dim, early evening light. She took only one misstep -- close enough that one went silent and threw a look in her direction, and it shut everything down inside of her for a brief moment. She held her breath. Stood as still as she could force her trembling limbs to hold, before it snuffed, and fell back against the pavement to wail.

Somewhere, just over this hill and through an alley, James was on the precipice of something. She felt it in her as sharp as a knife in her side, and wondered idly, distracted from her fear, if they were more connected than he seemed to think they were. Actually, she didn't have to wonder. That shit had seemed so obvious to Laura since the moment they'd driven back to Ashfield together, in complete silence, but in the midst of understanding. Maybe she wasn't his blood for real, but the loss they'd both suffered -- yeah, it was the same.

Mary had wanted them together, and Laura had always thought so. Despite how fucking hellish that seemed sometimes.

It was all she could do, to think about something else, for the heavy eternity that it took to navigate through those things.

Pulled back into the moment, she made a serpentine movement around two of them. It lead her directly to a concrete wall that she brushed up against, her hand coming away covered in chalky pink, and yellow. If there had been a moment to reminisce, she might have realized that they were the same drawings she'd put there ten years ago, somehow undisturbed by the turning this town had done in her absence. Now, though, she only had time to slip past it on her way up the sidewalk.

Eventually, after an agonizing trudge through a foul, rancid miasma of lurking shapes, Laura crossed from asphalt onto a fine brick pathway. Leaving the cries of those creatures behind her silenced them almost right away, like the only reason they'd been making noise in the first place was because they had sensed her there. Sparing a moment to look back, she realized that it was actually because they'd all vanished No more shapes in the fog. Just thick, grey mist.

If she had the time to investigate, she might have actually turned back and done it. But _Jesus_ , she felt like she was being tugged on a leash deeper into Rosewater Park, half trotting as she scanned what she could see in front of her, that wasn't totally enveloped by the fog. She brushed past a familiar praying statue, decorated lavishly with fresh flowers that smelled so good, she almost thought about stopping as she went by.

Something very heavy settled over the atmosphere here, and felt like she was swallowing smoke, the deeper she went into the fog. Her footsteps, and her heartbeat, quickened with every second she couldn't find what she was looking for, until, in the distance, she spotted a lone figure hunched at the end of the docks. Breaking into a sprint, Laura had to clear her throat to throw her voice with a volume that he could pick up. The ambience muffled it, as if she was trying to shout through a snow storm.

"James!" that had to be enough for him. Hearing her voice, knowing she'd followed him here, that Laura had _cared,_ wouldn't that be enough? "James, stop! I didn't --" she swallowed a breath, but it couldn't keep her from wobbling. After losing her balance, she careened forward into a skid on her knees across the old wood, splintering and scraping the skin there. One palm hit the ground, and the other went to her throat, to stop herself from choking on her own words, fighting with crying. "I didn't _mean_ it, _please, Dad!_ " before she was doubled over. The thing about Laura, though, was that she wouldn't _be_ like those fucking creatures. Her cries were silent tremors that made her voice smaller, until there was barely anything at all.

"Please don't, please don't --" she begged his shadow quietly, through full and hot tears, "Please. _Please._ "

And whether it was him or something else walking across the dock towards her, she made the startling realization that she didn't care. Was that how he felt all the time? Swallowed by his own apathy? Reluctant to even ask for mercy -- well _fuck,_ she leaned down and rested her face in the palms of her hands, hiding from whatever was about to happen. She didn't want to know or see.

"Laura," his voice never sounded so fucking comforting, "Get up," he urged, and his hands came out to grab her shoulders; she felt his arms around her for the first time since she was a little girl. The cracks in her started splintering out into lightning bolts, her resolve weakening more by the second. Despite the way he was trying to tug her to her feet, she felt like a sack of wet cement, all pooling at the very bottom. Whatever it was he wanted her to do seemed much less important, than the hug they were locked in right now.

The gunshot that suddenly rang out in her peripheral shattered her entirely; terror turned a silent cry into a half scream. She tensed so hard that she felt every muscle in her back coil into a tight knot. Looking up at him, and then to the arm he had extended, she saw the barrel of his gun pointed over her shoulder. Its target was something massive, galloping towards them with enough force that Laura felt tremors in the ground beneath her. Piercing the veil of fog, was that familiar sight of a drooping sack of a face. No features, as it drug its body along behind it with incredible speed.

"Okay," she finally agreed breathlessly, trying to get her legs beneath her, with absolutely no idea where she was supposed to go from there. But Laura almost couldn't keep herself upright, stumbling along the old wood with a look thrown over her shoulder. James got off two more shots into the thing. Blackish blood burst from it on each hit, but it didn't even flinch, only continued its thundering warpath towards the pair of them.

For just a moment, when James turned to look at her, Laura saw something strangely _awake_ in him; he was totally alight in that moment. There wasn't _happiness_ per say, just an awareness she was sure she'd never seen in his eyes. "The boat at the end of the dock," he nodded to her, "Get in, get it untied, fast!"

Even with tears streaming down her face, Laura trusted what he was asking of her.

She turned, and sprinted in the direction he'd pointed, with limbs equal parts heavy, and weak. Waiting for her, sloshing on soft waves made more and more grand as the distance between it and the creature closed, was an old rowboat, knocking against the wood. She know better than to waste her time by trying to undo James' knot; she just picked up the whole loop instead and tugged over the ancient post it'd been tied to, tossing it into the boat before her. It rocked underneath her when she carefully stepped in.

James was backing up towards her slowly, using bullet after bullet to try and find a weak spot on the obscure animal closing in on them, but once it crossed the threshold from the brick path way, onto the rickety wood of the dock, he turned tail on it. After laying both hands against the edge of the rowboat, he gave a hearty shove, sending it as far out as he could onto the lake. The jump he took, and _made_ for that matter, from dock to the boat was almost impressive, considering Laura had never seen him move like that, even _once._

The rowboat rocked violently on his impact, even more so as he scrambled around her to take each oar in his hands, and begin rowing with so much speed, it could have almost been funny. The whole moment crackled with electricity; somehow, there was a part of Laura that was suddenly confident in their safety, even though James had never once made her feel safe in her entire life.

Laura twisted her body to look behind her at the creature. With her heartbeat slamming against her ribs, she was totally still, watching as it attempted to skid to a stop at the end of the dock. Inertia took it the rest of the way into the water, and it's wailing cries bubbled as it sloshed around in a pitiable panic. It bobbed up and down in three second intervals, then ten. Eventually, it's howls bubbled beneath the water, dragged down by the heavy sack of skin that hung from its torso. Like a pocket full of stones to hold it under.

It wasn't until there was only silence between the pair of them that Laura realized she'd been holding her breath while she watched. Looking back to Dad, she quietly exhaled, and swallowed, wiping tears and the sloppy, sticky trails from around her eyes and nose. James didn't say anything, only continued to row them further across the Toluca's surface, in grim quiet.


End file.
